


Steal that Swing

by coppersunshine



Category: Leverage
Genre: ...with a lot of blues dance in it, Establishing Relationship, Fluff, Multi, Swing Dance AU, minor Eliot angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppersunshine/pseuds/coppersunshine
Summary: "It was something like desperation that led Eliot to start looking up dance organizations in the area. At this point it was either punch or dance, and the punching hadn’t worked out so well.The first search result took him to a well-designed, minimalist site. “Lindy-Hop, West Coast, and East Coast Swing, Wednesdays at 7pm. Free Drop-in Lesson! Dance $5.” Eliot glanced at his watch. 7 o’clock already, but he’d still make the open dance.He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door."





	Steal that Swing

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Ramblingandpie for the podfic and banner on this! I'm glad to finally write this, it's been in my head for ages.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138934766@N02/38209317544/in/dateposted-public/) Link to podfic until I can get the embed to work: [Link text](https://drive.google.com/file/d/14EUJ6iI2xpb1uzdOI7LW2eobOfY8q7-5/view?usp=sharing)

Eliot wasn’t sure, after, why he chose Boston. It just seemed like the thing to do, the best way to get as far from his old life as he possibly could. 

The breakup was a mess. He didn’t blame Aimee--he couldn’t, not after disappearing for six months without word. He wasn’t sure why he’d gone back, afterwards. He wasn’t dumb enough to think she’d wait, all that time. Probably just that he needed to know she was okay, wanted her to know he wasn’t dead and that he had a reason for his absence, even if it was none she could hear. 

There had been a lot of yelling, on her part. He deserved it, stood and took it. When she’d said her piece and told him to get out, he left. Ditched his car at the airport and took the first flight to somewhere interesting. 

 

It was good, at first, being in a new city. The work of finding a new apartment, new furniture, new everything, of getting things set-up right; it all kept him from thinking too much, from mulling over his regrets. 

He cooked everything he had missed cooking in the last six months of trouble, which was fine, until he ended up with a fridge full of leftovers. Cooking was always a good thing, but it was better when there were people to cook for. 

He took a few jobs, quick and easy. Low-paying: he didn’t need the money, just the distraction. It didn’t help. 

Somewhere along the line he ended up in a country bar, watching the dancers, and realized he missed that, too. Eliot never thought he’d be a dancer--he preferred playing the music--but Aimee had dragged him along, and he got caught up in it, the thrill of throwing his partner around and the simplicity of being inside the music without having to think about which chord came next. He’d gotten pretty good, but he never expected to miss it. It was always a him and Aimee kind of thing, and without her he figured he’d go back to his old hobbies. 

He tried, that night in the country bar. Asked a pretty follow to dance--in six months off, he was pretty rusty, but it came back quick enough, though not without a certain amount of doing the same three moves over and over again and racking his brain for more. 

After the rush had died down, though, he just felt more lonesome. Country swing was their thing, and doing it without her just felt wrong. 

He didn’t go back. 

 

Still, the dance itch didn’t leave him. It took about two weeks for Eliot to get really crazy about it--two weeks of eating leftovers, taking jobs any two-bit thug could do, and keeping the TV going night and day to try to distract his thoughts from her. Eliot had never owned a TV before. Didn’t like them, but now he welcomed the mindlessness. 

None of his other breakups had been like this, but he’d never loved anyone like he loved Aimee. He hated the irrationality of it, the excess of emotion. The loss of control. It was the lack of control more than anything that drove him crazy, until he needed to punch something, anything, to screw his head on straight. 

He took more jobs than he should have, but the constant exhaustion, bruises and aches helped focus him. 

Eventually it caught up to him. Took a job, and it should have been easy, except he wasn’t in any condition for it. Too tired already, bone weary, and his reflexes dulled to the point even a two-bit thug stood a chance. He came out of it, barely; came home, flopped onto the couch, and didn’t move much the next few days after that. 

So it was something like desperation that led him to start looking up dance organizations in the area with the idea that something new wouldn’t remind him so much of Aimee. At this point it was either punch or dance, and the punching hadn’t worked out so well.

The first search result took him to a well-designed, minimalist site. “Lindy-Hop, West Coast, and East Coast Swing, Wednesdays at 7pm. Free Drop-in Lesson! Dance $5.” Eliot glanced at his watch. 7 o’clock already, but he’d still make the open dance. 

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. 

 

The dance was held in an art studio downtown. It was an old building, worn brick walls and original wood floors. Decent lines of sight and a rear exit to an alley out back. Eliot walked in, paid his cover charge, and sat down, watching the lesson still in progress. A dark-haired woman was teaching, encouraging a bunch of blindfolded follows being led by leads who clearly didn’t know what they were doing. Apparently it was some kind of exercise designed to develop better technique, but it mostly looked stupid. 

Still, he had to admire the skill of the teacher. She managed to tease a mild competence out of her students by the end of the class, through cajoling, encouragement, and the use of odd metaphors that somehow seemed to get through. Another few months of that and he could see them being decent dancers, as hopeless as they were now.

The lesson ended and a man with unruly brown hair started talking over the mic. 

“Okay, everyone, let’s thank the amazing Sophie Deveraux for that lesson.”

There was an awkward round of applause. Sophie curtsied. 

“Now, let’s take care of business! Who’s here for the very first time?”

A few hands raised. Eliot kept his down. 

“Hey, thanks for coming out! We have the open dance after this; if you haven’t paid the cover make sure to head over to the lovely Maggie by the door and get a wristband. There are a few fun events coming up: Friday we have Salsa right here, and there’s a special West Coast Swing workshop next Saturday that’ll be taught be the luminous Ms. Deveraux! Now, a round of applause for the DJ tonight, Alec Hardison! 

The DJ gave a ‘sup’ from his booth, and started the music. A bouncy tune came on. “...I like pie, I like cake…”

Eliot sat awkwardly in his corner. Probably missing the lesson wasn’t the best idea his first time, since he had no idea how to dance this ‘Lindy-Hop’ everyone else seemed to be doing. 

A cute blonde hopped over to him. “Wanna dance?”

“I don’t...I don’t know this dance.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “We can make it up!”

She dragged him out of his seat, ignoring his protestations. “I’m Parker,” she pronounced. 

“Eliot.”

“Do you know anything?”

He bristled. “I can dance, just not this.”

Parker seemed not to notice he had taken offense. “Cool, what do you dance?”

“I know some country swing.”

Her eyes lit up. “Awesome! It’s basically the same thing as single-step east coast. C’mon, we’ll go make Hardison put on a better song.” 

She dragged him over to the DJ booth and hopped up onto the table. 

“This is Eliot and he wants you to play a song that doesn’t suck as much as this one.”

“I didn’t…” protested Eliot. 

Hardison looked up from his laptop. “Hey man, nice to meet you. Don’t mind Parker, I don’t.” He grinned, real friendly. Parker poked him. “This your first time out, yeah?”

Eliot nodded. 

“Cool, cool.” He turned to Parker. “What’s your problem with my music this time, mama?” 

“We need a single-step so Eliot can dance. He knows country swing.”

“Hey, alright. How long you been dancing?” 

“Coupl’a years, on and off.”

“What made you show up here?”

Eliot shrugged. “New city, time for a change.”

“You’re new around here? Oh man, we’re gonna have to take you out on the town, right Parker?”

The song started to end and Parker hauled Eliot back onto the dance floor, a warning finger pointed in Hardison’s direction. “Play something good!”

Eliot stood, holding Parker’s hands, that limbo moment of waiting.

The song came on and Eliot laughed. “Really?”

“Shut up and dance!” teased Parker. 

Eliot stood a moment, caught the beat, and started dancing. 

Parker followed like a dream. She took everything he threw at her, adding quirky stylization while he desperately tried to remember what all he knew. The connection was so perfect he wondered vaguely if she was somehow reading his mind. After so long without dancing, it was pure joy to have that electric connection with partner and music.

Mid-song she shouted, “Do you know any aerials?”

Eliot hesitated, spinning past her in a lead turn. “It’s been a while.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t drop me.”

Eliot pushed her away, beginning the lead-up for the easiest aerial he knew and readying his stance. She flew at him almost before he was ready, but he caught her in a perfect princess dip. She beamed at him before flinging both of her hands off his neck where they had been grasped. His eyes widened somewhat, but Parker’s perfect balance and his hands around her waist were enough to hold the dip. Grinning, he took away one of his hands, flinging it out to the side with dramatic flair. He paused for effect, then brought Parker out of the aerial, immediately swooping her into a dip, as low to the floor as he could get without her touching it. The song ended. Eliot carefully lifted Parker back onto her feet. 

“You’re really good!” Parker said. 

Eliot smiled. Clapping came from behind him. He turned; it was the brunette woman, Sophie. 

“Bravo! How come I haven’t seen you around here?”

“He’s new in town,” answered Parker. “And he doesn’t know lindy.”

“Well, we can fix that,” said Sophie. “Next time, come to the lesson.”

“Yes ma’am.” Eliot grinned, caught up in the joy of the dance, endorphins rushing. 

“So, what other aerials do you know?” asked Parker. 

Eliot shrugged. “I don’t know all the names of ‘em, and you might call ‘em differently anyway. There’s one where…” He made an elaborate gesture with his hands, miming the movement. 

“Airplane?” said Parker. “You know airplane! The only person else here who can lead airplane is Hardison, and he’s always complaining about it. C’mon, let’s do it.”

“It’s been a while…”

“You’re strong. You won’t drop me. I’m like a cat, anyway. I always land on my feet.”

It took a couple of tries for Eliot to remember the intro--bow and arrow to that weird grip that started the backflip--but he got there. “You sure about this?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You fall on your head, pass out, and get a concussion.”

“Pfft, that’s nothing. I mean, if I want some real risk I’ll jump off a building. Let’s go!”

“Alright. On three, then.” At the count, he flipped her onto his shoulder, where she balanced, holding her hands in front of her like she was superman. 

“Spin!” she yelled.

Eliot began slowly rotating, carefully holding onto her as he stepped. He completed the rotation and then stopped, helping her flip back onto the ground. 

“That was great!” she said. “What else do you know?”

Parker ran Eliot through all the aerials he could remember, and nearly all the dips, and lots of floorwork as well, until he was exhausted and Hardison came over to rescue him. 

“Hey, man, don’t let Parker push you around too much. Girl can do aerials for hours.”

“It’s fine,” said Eliot. “I wouldn’t have let her if I minded.”

“Yeah, you look real worn out though, and I can see you favoring that shoulder. We can’t let you get injured just ‘cause Parker wants to get flung around. Come sit by me, nobody will bother you back here.”

Eliot acquiesced, not sure what else to do--and he did need a rest. Hardison was quiet for a minute or so, setting up songs, and then sat back from his laptop and turned to Eliot. 

“So, how long have you been in town for, then?”

“‘Bout a month now.”

“Cool, cool.”

“You do this all the time?” Eliot gestured at the sound set-up.

“Nah, just as a favor for Nate and Sophie when I feel like it. Nate’s perfectly capable of running it himself, but when I’m in town I run it. Mostly because then I get to play whatever I want, and I like my music better than Nate’s. More electroswing and less big band stuff.”

“I’ve never even heard of ‘electroswing’. Give me some country and I’d be able to help.”

Hardison laughed. “Country here is reserved for the line dances. I put it on otherwise and Sophie’d have a fit.”

“Sounds like a pretty good incentive then.”

Hardison raised an eyebrow and then grinned. “Shoot, I like you. Here, what’s the twangiest swing song you can think of?”

Eliot gave him a title and Hardison queued it up. 

“One condition, though, man, you have to dance it with me so Sophie won’t come over here and murder me.”

“I only know lead.”

“That’s cool, I’m a pretty good follow. Me’n Parker dance switch most of the time so I get my practice in.”

“Switch?”

“Yeah, we both lead and follow, so we’ll dance where we swap the lead back and forth. We made a game out of it, whoever gets the smoothest steal in wins. Besides, if I didn’t follow I’d never get to be dipped.”

“Parker dips you?”

“Mama’s strong. I’m surprised she didn’t try to dip you, earlier. I think she likes seeing the shock on people’s faces when she’s dipping someone twice her size. She tried to princess dip me one time, too, only that didn’t go so well.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you can’t balance for shit,” said Parker, dangling from the rafter. 

“I didn’t say it was your fault, did I?” 

Eliot laughed. “I wish I’d seen that.”

“Give Sophie a chance, she’ll tell you all about it. I swear that woman takes joy in my pain…”

Parker flipped neatly onto the ground, landing delicately among the chairs and cables. “Only happened ‘cause you tried to say that following an aerial was easier than leading it.”

Eliot gave Hardison a look. “Really, man?”

“It was years ago! I have learned many things since then! And also learned to follow.”

“Sure, but you still won’t do princess dip with me,” said Parker. 

Hardison shuddered. “Yeah, because I don’t exactly feel like bashing my head in!”

“You didn’t bash your head in last time! Just because you screwed up and gave Maggie that concussion doesn’t mean I’d give you one.”

“One time! That was one time!”

As they squabbled, Eliot’s eyes drifted to the dance floor. Nate and Sophie were dancing together, a smooth, fluid dance very unlike the bouncy lindy-hop he’d been watching earlier. In this dance they drifted, pulling together and apart, back and forth, almost but never quite colliding. Back and forth, down the dance floor, keeping in line, elegant and graceful. 

“Hey, what’s that dance?”

They looked up, momentarily distracted from an argument they had clearly hashed out many times before. 

“West coast swing!” said Parker. “Nate and Sophie are the best at it.”

“They do lessons?”

“Yeah,” said Hardison, “They’ve got a workshop Sophie’s teaching next Saturday. It’s too late to register, but if we ask Sophie she’ll let you come.”

“Sophie says I have too much energy for west coast,” said Parker, “She’s trying to teach me to be calm.”

“It looks like it’s about...control,” said Eliot. 

A new song came on, twangy country chords. Sophie stopped, glaring over at the booth. “Hardison!”

Hardison cackled. “C’mon, Eliot, let’s dance.”

 

Hardison was almost as good a follow as Parker. Eliot had never danced with a follow so tall--there were adjustments to be made for the sake of completing turns--but once he sorted that out he started to have fun. Hardison was hamming it up to the country music, doing funny jig steps instead of the rock-step and moving his elbows more than was strictly necessary. Eliot felt he should be offended but honestly it was pretty funny, even if it was getting in the way of his leading. He play-growled at Hardison: “Stop that.” Hardison just laughed. The man’s joy dancing was infectious, even if he was being a little shit--he stopped poking fun at the country only to start shimmying every time Eliot gave him space on the rock-step, and it was incredibly annoying. 

When the song ended Hardison threw his arm around Eliot’s shoulder, giving him a side-hug before stepping away. 

“Oh wow, that was great! How long you been dancing, anyway?”

“Three years, on and off. Very on and off.”

Hardison whistled. “Damn, you’re doing good, then! It took me almost that long just to sort out which foot went where.”

Eliot shrugged. “I had a transferable skill-set.” 

“Man, you and Parker both. All my skill-sets involve sitting in front of a computer.”

“You caught up, though.”

“Thanks to Sophie! Woman hammered some grace into my skull. She’s a great teacher.”

“I noticed earlier she seems pretty effective.”

“Yeah, man, I don’t know how she does it, but somehow she can make the crappiest beginner a plausible dancer. It’s like magic.”

Hardison plunked himself back down in front of his laptop, adding new music. It was another lindy-hop song, and Eliot stood, studying Parker’s dancing. He could get a sense for the feel of it, watching--hell, he could do that from the music, bouncy as it was--but the footwork eluded him. Another thing he’d have to take a lesson on if he wanted to learn it. Either that or harass Parker into showing him, which might be a good alternative. The list of dances he needed to learn was quickly growing. 

It was a good night. Eliot still missed Aimee, but not so much as before. He danced plenty more dances, including one with Sophie, and felt thoroughly judged throughout the entire song. And if he had to sit out most of the lindy songs, Hardison still played plenty of songs he could dance to. 

Eliot went home late, exhausted, and flopped onto the bed to get his first truly good night’s sleep in--well, in about six months. 

 

A month later, Eliot had unceremoniously dumped the television on the street and was sitting at home, blissfully reading in silence, when his phone dinged. 

Parker, 7:38 pm: 555 Juniper St.  
Parker, 7:38 pm: Meet us here! 1 hr!

He’d been to swing plenty now, and even that west coast workshop, so his first thought was that it was a real shame his new friends turned out to be trying to kill him. Unknown address, no explanation...it wasn’t even a good murder attempt, it was so obvious. 

Which, on second thought, while he wouldn't put it past Parker to be an assassin, Hardison seemed like the kind of guy who got squeamish walking past the meat department in the grocery store. Still, as a precaution:

Eliot, 7:40 pm: What’s Parker talking about tonight?  
Hardison, 7:41 pm: blues dance!! House party styleee bring booze

Which sounded innocuous enough. Eliot looked up the address and it was just a house, no red flags. 

He finished preparing the poolish for tomorrow’s ciabatta and cleaned the kitchen, then headed to the party store to pick up some beer before going to the event. 

As he walked up the steps to the porch, Parker spilled out the front door, slightly loopy, and jumped at him. He caught her, surprised.

“Eliot! Hardison said my text was creepy but I’m glad you came.”

“Happy to, once he verified you weren’t trying to murder me.” He looked at her. “Are you drunk?”

“And what if he was in on it?”

Eliot shrugged. “I’m armed.”

“So am I!” Parker grinned, pulling out a taser and making it crackle in the air. “Hardison calls her Elektra.”

“Those’re illegal in Massachusetts,” he said mildly.

“Yep! I stole it. Come on, let’s go inside. I’m not drunk,” she said. “I’m just happy it’s blues day! Do you have money? It’s five dollars, though if you flirt with Tara you can probably get in for free, even though you’re not her type.”

Eliot maneuvered them inside and immediately stopped. 

“Quinn.”

“Spencer.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Working door for Tara, of course.”

“You know each other?” asked Parker. 

“We’ve had a few encounters,” said Eliot. 

A woman walked around the corner. “Hey, Quinn, can you…” She stopped. “Do we have a problem?”

“No ma’am,” said Eliot. “‘Less Quinn’s feeling a bit sore about those ribs.”

Quinn snorted. “Yeah, and how are yours?”

“No business at blues,” said the woman. “Even Parker keeps her hands to herself, mostly. I’m Tara.”

“Eliot. Nice to meet you. Sorry for the scene.”

She laughed. “There’s a reason we keep such fine muscle on the door.” She winked broadly at Quinn, who blew her a kiss. “And most of my guests aren’t as dangerous as you. Parker, dear, when you said you were bringing a friend, you didn’t say it was Eliot Spencer.”

Parker shrugged, hopping out of Eliot’s arms. “Is Hardison downstairs already?”

“Yes, he’s just setting up.”

“C’mon,” she said to Eliot. “Let’s go pester Alec.”

 

The basement had a beautiful dance floor, a bar area to one side, and a DJ booth where Hardison was testing the sound. 

“Hey, Parker, how’s the volume?”

She gave him a thumbs up before heading over.

“Pretty nice venue, huh?” said Hardison. 

Eliot nodded. “She run these often?”

“Eh, when she’s back from a job. Celebratory kind of thing. Once the night starts officially, the place gets packed. We needed you here early, though, teach you some blues dancing!” 

“How long have you known who I am?”

Hardison shrugged. “Nate recognized you when you walked in. He used to be an insurance cop, right, so he’s pretty well acquainted with those of us who used to make his life difficult.”

“Wait, Nate...Ford? Nate Ford is hanging out with a bunch of criminals?” Eliot shook his head. “Man, my information must be more out of date than I thought.” 

“Six months off grid’ll do that to you.”

“And y’all are fine with me hanging around? I don’t usually get so good a reception with those who are familiar with my work.”

“Hell, we keep Quinn around, and he’s far more annoying than you are. It’s not a big deal, man. We’ve all got shit in our line of work. Long as everyone keeps it separate, it’s not a problem.”

Parker sighed. “Can we just teach you blues now?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Hardison selected a song and turned up the music.

“Look, here’s the basic step,” said Parker. “It’s really super easy. You got that?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s pretty much it,” laughed Hardison. “All the rest is just dressing. But this is a fusion blues joint, so you go somewhere else and they might have other opinions.”

Parker nodded. “You can do whatever you want, and if it fits the music and your partner can follow it, it’s fine. Here, partner up with Hardison.”

Eliot and Hardison went into closed position, his right hand just below Hardison’s shoulder blades, and their other hands clasped, held up in the ballroom posture Eliot was vaguely familiar with. 

“Nah, you gotta relax, man,” said Hardison. “Just relax, blues is all about chill, right? You don’t want tension unless you need it for the lead.” 

Eliot adjusted his posture and tension until Hardison approved. 

“Alright, good, now try a spin, but slow, and let me pick how I want to follow it. And keep the footwork, right? Yeah, that’s great. Man, it is unfair how good you are at this.”

“I told you,” said Eliot. “Transferable skill-set.”

“I never would’a thought bashing skulls would be so useful for dancing.”

“Yeah, that, and the music helps some.”

“Music, huh? What do you play?”

“Guitar, an’ I sing some. Country stuff mostly, and some folk.”

Hardison appraised him. “Huh. I guess I wouldn’t have expected that of you. I mean, I’m pretty much the textbook definition of hacker, right? Geek, problem with authority, et cetera, et cetera. What else do you got hidden up your sleeve, Eliot Spencer?”

Eliot smiled archly. “I have to keep some secrets, don’t I?” 

“He bakes!” said Parker. 

“How did you...?”

She sniffed him, close. “You smell like yeast.”

Hardison cringed. “Woman, do you even know how that sounds?”

She rolled her eyes at him and skipped up the stairs. 

“What’s up with her tonight?” asked Eliot. 

“Girl loves her blues. I think it’s one of the places she feels most safe, and she gets hyped up on all the social interaction. Blues is all about chill, and getting comfortable, and I guess that’s what it looks like for Parker. She’ll crash later in the night, though, and we’ll get zombie Parker.

“Used to be I didn’t see that side of her so much,” he continued. “Once in a blue moon, maybe. Dance has been good for her. We only started coming after I finally won a bet and we stopped jumping off buildings every time she got bored. Though she still does plenty of that herself.”

“How long you been dating?”

“‘Bout a year now. Been working together longer, maybe six, seven years.” Hardison chuckled. “Was Nate got us teamed up, actually, and I’m sure he’s regretted that more than once. We were running jobs, separate, and he got wind and was on our tail, and the only reason we managed to escape is ‘cause we worked together. Man, you should’a seen her then. Girl does not trust easy. Hey, do you ever follow?”

Eliot blinked at the non sequitur. “I haven’t.”

“You want to at all?”

“I--sure, why not?”

“I’ll show you later. There’s enough people coming in now I should actually get things rolling. Go make sure Parker isn’t blowing anything up, a’ight?” 

Eliot laughed. “Man, how do you know I’m not going to help her?” 

 

Parker was not blowing things up, though going up the stairs Eliot nearly ran into her as she was dragging Sophie down them. 

“Sophie! Come dance with me!”

“All right, Parker, all right. Really, I’m flattered, but my feet do work, dear.”

Eliot dodged to the side of the staircase before continuing up, figuring if Sophie couldn’t keep Parker out of trouble there was no hope. 

 

There was a decent crowd upstairs of people filtering in, setting down their bags and coats and chatting. They didn’t all seem to be criminals, but Eliot couldn’t be sure anymore. If Hardison was a thief, anyone could be. (Parker’s profession in retrospect was completely unsurprising). 

He went and sat down next to Quinn; this was as good a time as any to renew their long and complicated friendship. 

“Hey, Spencer. How’d your crash course go?”

Eliot shrugged. “Well enough.”

“And you’re not dancing?”

“Not many people downstairs.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “The degree of milling about up here is absurd. Hey, morons!” he yelled. “The booze is downstairs!” 

There was some laughter, and a few raised fingers, but the crowd started filing downstairs. 

“Effective,” said Eliot. 

“These people know no subtlety. You really should find someone to dance with.” A woman walked through the door. “Hey, just who we needed! Maggie, you’ll dance with Eliot, right? As a personal favor?”

“You don’t get favors from me, Quinn. Not after last time.” She smiled at Eliot. “I’ll still dance with you.” She paid the cover and grabbed a wristband, expertly putting it on, then set down her coat and bag, put on dance shoes, and stood up. “Okay, let’s go dance.”

Maggie was less skilled a follow than either Parker or Hardison, but her grace and charm made her enjoyable to dance with. “So, Maggie,” said Eliot. “Are you also a criminal?”

She laughed. “I’m the honest woman. An art expert.”

“Art expert, huh? I’m not sure that quite counts as honest.”

“And you? What’s your profession? A criminal like the rest?”

“Yes ma’am.” Eliot smiled wryly. “I’m a hitter.”

“Ah, one of the dangerous ones.”

“We all are, one way or another. I just...specialize in it.”

She shook her head. “If you had told me five years ago I’d be hanging about with criminals and thieves on a regular basis, I would have laughed.”

“Circumstances change. Life isn’t static.”

“You’re right about that.” The song ended. “Thank you for the dance, Eliot.” 

 

Hardison was right about Parker crashing; as the night grew longer and the songs slower, she became lethargic. Late in the night she shuffled up to Eliot and pulled him onto the dance floor.

“You look like you need some sleep.”

She shook her head emphatically, but pulled Eliot in close to rest her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. Eliot hesitantly put his hands around her waist. 

“It’s okay,” she mumbled, “you can touch me. You’re allowed.”

“Thanks.”

“Shh. No talk, just dance.”

Eliot would have thought that a dance which basically amounted to a three-minute hug with footwork would be boring, but it wasn’t. It was nice, the closeness of it. 

When the song ended they stood a moment, still holding each other, before Eliot pulled back. Parker blinked blearily at him. “Thanks, Eliot.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Parker,” he said, hoarse. 

“Go dance with Hardison now.”

“What? No.”

She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t weird about this, are you? It’s blues. Go dance with Hardison.”

“Right...blues.”

Eliot went over to the DJ booth. “Parker commanded me to dance with you.”

“Parker did, huh? Guess we better obey then. Mama’s damn stubborn.” Hardison added a few more songs to the queue, then came around the table and grabbed Eliot’s hand. “You want to try following, now?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Alright, so, footwork’s the same, just a different hold, and then you...listen. ‘Course, in blues the follow has more control than swing, so if you’re really feelin’ something in the music you can guide me, too.”

“Alright.”

“I guess you can just take a stab at it, an’ we’ll see how you do?”

Eliot nodded, and Hardison began to fuse with the music, moving inside of it--he started easy, for Eliot’s sake, just turns, weight shifts, alterations of timing and movement. 

It was more difficult than Eliot anticipated; he had to actively think to catch the subtleties of Hardison’s lead. “Hey,” said Hardison, “You don’t have to try so hard. Just--let yourself be, in the music.”

Eliot paused a moment, then made a decision. He relaxed, first consciously, then fully collapsing into the music as it took hold of him, giving up command over himself for the first time in--well, ever--and letting Hardison guide him through the song. 

They moved together, caught within the rhythm. Eliot followed Hardison, and Hardison followed the music until the song faded and they drifted slowly apart. 

“Wow,” said Hardison. 

“I--thanks,” said Eliot. He walked upstairs and outside into the cool night air. 

 

Eliot did not want to be happy. He did not want new friends who accepted him, even accepted the knowledge of what being Eliot Spencer really meant. He didn’t want a place that softened his edges. Eliot lived in a state of constant paranoia, and had for so long he’d completely forgotten what it felt like to really, truly relax. Even with Aimee he hadn’t, couldn’t--it was one of the things they had argued about--but here, surrounded by criminals, he somehow felt safe. Worse, he’d decided to. Looked at Hardison and made his choice. 

Parker sat next to him, on the front steps. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to.” She shifted, shredding a leaf in her hands. “It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“Feeling safe.” She turned to face Eliot and sprinkled the bits of leaf over his hair. 

“Really?” He glared at her, but didn’t move to brush it out. 

“Suits you. Can I give you a glitter beard?”

“What? No!”

“Please?”

“No.”

“It could be my Christmas present!”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “It’s August.”

She shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “So we wait ‘til December to do it.”

“I don’t know I’ll still be around in December.”

“Around as in alive or around as in here?”

He growled, hiding a laugh. “Either, I guess.”

Parker smiled at him. “I think you will. Feeling safe is nice, once it stops being scary. Not all of time, or you get caught. Just, once in awhile, to let your breath out.”

“That what you been doing?”

She nodded. “You wanna come watch crappy movies with me and Hardison?

“It’s 2 am.”

“So?”

Eliot smiled faintly. “Sure.”

Parker leaned against him. “You like blues,” she said. 

“I suppose I do.”

“Me too.”

Hardison clattered onto the porch. “Hey, babe, you--hey, El.”

Eliot startled, guilty. Parker just rolled her head around to smile beatifically at Hardison. “Come sit with us.”

“Sure.” He sat on Eliot’s other side, long legs sprawled out across the steps. “Pretty nice night, huh? Perseids are supposed to be peaking in a couple days, but we might see some tonight.”

“Wanna watch crappy movies with me an’ Eliot?”

Eliot shifted, uncomfortable, but Hardison grinned. “Hell yeah, provided there’s caffeine involved.”

“Look!” shouted Parker, sitting up and pointing at the sky. She grinned. “You’re right, Hardison. Did you see it?” 

“Nah, mama, that one was all yours. Did you make a wish?”

Her eyes crinkled, and she looked at Eliot and Hardison. “Yeah, I did. Hey, do you think three people can blues together?”

Hardison's face grew warm, and he ducked his head before answering. “Seems possible. If we were careful, and went slow.”

They gazed at Eliot. “This ain’t all about blues, is it?” he said, slowly, like the words were a trap. 

Parker shook her head. “Some of it is. Some of it isn’t. Do you want more words?”

“No, I...I think Hardison’s right. Maybe not now, but someday.”

“Someday when?” asked Parker. 

“Someday before Christmas.”

She nodded. “Let’s see if Tara’s ready to kick people out yet and then we can go and watch those movies.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Hardison, propelling himself upright with a groan. “Let’s go!”

 

“Why is this even a movie?” complained Eliot. “No plot, inconsistent characterization, and she can’t even make biscuits! Who let this happen?”

“Not everyone can cook, Eliot.”

“But she’s supposed to be a chef. Did you see those hockey pucks?”

Parker shrugged. “I’d eat it.”

“No offense babe,” said Hardison, “But I’ve seen you eat lard with a spoon. You ain’t a great judge here.”

A look of horror came into Eliot’s eyes. “With a spoon?”

“What else would I eat it with?”

He shuddered. “I’m making you two real food. C’mon, we’re going to the grocery store.”

“There’s some stuff in the cupboard,” said Hardison helpfully. 

Eliot leveled him a look. “Gummy anything doesn’t count. Or cereal.”

“Uhuh. You know it’s four in the morning, right?”

“This can’t wait.”

 

A steak dinner tasted remarkably good at six in the morning. 

“Damn,” said Hardison. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten, including my Nana’s spaghetti, but don’t you dare tell her that.” 

Parker dragged herself to the couch, flopping onto it dramatically. “I’m going to sleep forever.”

“Nu-uh, mama, we gotta help Eliot clean the kitchen.”

She groaned, heaving herself painfully to standing. 

“Kitchen’s already clean,” said Eliot. “Jus’ gotta load our plates in the dishwasher.”

“Seriously? How do you cook without making a mess? I’m always covered in flour by the end. Don’t even matter if there’s flour in the recipe.”

Eliot shrugged. “Guess I’m just better than you.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Hardison blearily. “It is too early in the morning for that kind of attack. I mean, you’re right, but still. How could you.”

Parker huffed. “Can you two just get over here?”

“I should be getting back to my place…” said Eliot. 

“And when exactly was the last time you slept?” challenged Hardison. 

Eliot glanced at his watch. “...twenty-seven hours ago.”

“Uhuh. You’re not going anywhere until you get some sleep.” He dragged Eliot over to the couch. “Sit down. Make Parker happy.”

“I’m not sure…”

Parker sighed. “We’re not gonna make you stay, Eliot. But it’d be nice if you did, and also significantly lower the chance you wreck your car. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Besides,” said Hardison, “It’s already six-thirty, the neighbors are going to assume things anyway. Old lady across the hall’s a real snoop.”

Eliot sighed. “Okay.” He sat down. 

Parker smiled and snuggled against him. “Good.”

“Ya know,” said Hardison, folding himself into a blanket, “There’s swing tomorrow. Today. Tonight.” 

They groaned. “We could skip?” suggested Parker.

“No,” said Eliot, “I told Sophie I’d be at the lesson.”

“Well,” said Hardison. “Guess we’d better get some sleep, then.” He curled in his long legs. “You’re okay with this, El?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”


End file.
